


When You Say It

by ticktockclockwork



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Who's She, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, geralt avoids all problems he can't cut down with a sword, give me all the communication, give me all the difficult talks, why would love be any different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22910983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork
Summary: In for a penny, in for a pound.Find me on tumblr@ticktockclockwork
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 239





	When You Say It

There’s a sadness that creeps into Geralt from time to time and when Jaskier asks about it he rarely gains insight into its cause. He sees it first just after their meeting when he names the witcher as so many others have and earns himself a punch to the gut. He can’t say he didn’t deserve it. When he finally wrestles the honest story out of Geralt, in clips and stutter-stops over a campfire dinner, he realizes everyone’s assumptions about the man, including his own, were incorrect. 

Butcher of Blaviken, indeed. If he could punch himself in the gut, he’d do it again.

Toss A Coin becomes less about the coin and more about the witcher and the reputation he carries and Jaskier works with a purpose to remove the butcher from the public’s memory. He replaces it instead with a friend, a saviour, a boon instead of a bane and over time it works. Geralt isn’t pelted with stones in the streets of most towns they visit and Jaskier feels pride in his unrecognized labors, knowing he at least could help here.

But the sadness still comes usually deep in the night after a particularly hard fight or a particularly unwelcoming town. They’ll be sitting by the fire and Jaskier will be working on a ballad and he’ll look up to see Geralt looking at his hands or his swords or his horse and he will feel even more than he sees that Geralt is somewhere else. He dreads those nights because he knows they are likely to be followed by goodbyes in the morning and then he won’t see his friend for months. 

It happens more times than he cares to keep count and each time hurts as bad and as worse as the last and Jaskier wants to be angry at the man for not understanding his unwitting violence but he can’t when he knows this isn’t entirely Geralt’s fault. They’ve spoken briefly of his time in Kaer Morhen. He’s heard rumors of what it takes to become a witcher and he knows firsthand what it demands to survive as one and he cannot fault Geralt for what he has done to keep himself alive.

It doesn’t stop it from hurting, of course. But it keeps him from being angry.

They’ve been travelling together for two weeks when he tries to ask again. 

“Geralt?” He calls from the bed they were supposed to be sharing. It’s not ideal but it’s big enough and Geralt has never shown any problem with sharing before. But right now he’s not in the bed and Jaskier can guess that he never went in the first place and instead he’s sat in a chair by the window watching the water wheel turn in the mill next door. When he looks over, Jaskier doesn’t recognize him but when he blinks that person is gone and Geralt is frowning in his direction instead.

“Why are you awake?” He asks, like Jaskier is the one brooding by the window.

He huffs and shoves the blankets off his legs to swing them over the side of the bed and stretch. “I could ask you the same thing, sitting over there like a creature of the night.” It’s teasing and he means for it to land playfully but it hits a crack he didn’t know was open and Geralt turns away before Jaskier can even think to look apologetic. These are the nights he finds hardest, when he’s surrounded by traps and doesn’t know where to step. “Geralt, hey.” He makes his play and steps towards the other, slow at first then with purpose when the other doesn’t turn him away. “Talk to me. Why are you still up?”  
  
“I was meditating.” Geralt replies too quickly.

Jaskier crouches by his chair and sets a gentle hand on his knee. “Meditating? In your boots? With your sword within reach?” Jaskier casts his eyes to the weapons then back to Geralt who at least has the decency to look remiss. He doesn’t explain further though, instead issuing a small grunt before looking back to the window. Jaskier sighs and stands, using Geralt’s knee as leverage to push himself up before turning to light the candles around the room. 

“What are you doing?”

“Well if we’re going to be up there’s no sense in doing it in the dark. Honestly Geralt it’s like you forget I’m human sometimes. I don’t have your attractive cat eyes to lend me extra vision in the dark.” 

“Jaskier, just go back to sleep.”

“I will if you will.” 

He throws the challenge down and watches Geralt’s eyes and sees the moment when the sadness goes away under the weight of stupid competition. He mourns the loss of opportunity but Geralt does leave the window to begin reorganizing their packs in a bid to waste time on a completely unnecessary task so he counts it as a win. He understands this is him deflecting, avoiding whatever ghosts still linger in his thoughts, but Jaskier knows how to play this game too and isn’t as ignorant as Geralt wants to believe. He’ll let this one go but he’s learning the tells, recognizing the signs earlier on. Maybe one day it’ll be early enough to keep the man from walking away.

"I don't, you know." Geralt murmurs, hours later when Jaskier's finally coaxed him back to bed.

"Hm? You don't what?" His voice is muzzy with the beginnings of sleep and he's trying to remember what conversation this connects to.

"Forget."

It takes him longer than he'd like because when it finally clicks Geralt has turned away from him in the bed and is snoring. All he can manage in the light of the dawn is a gentle and damning 'oh'.

They kiss for the first time in the shared room they were gifted by the local farmer whose cattle they saved from an adolescent wyvern. Near death experiences can do that and though Jaskier wouldn’t recommend startling a fledgling wyvern while it’s mid meal as a means of accelerating a relationship, he can’t argue with the results. Not when he’s pressed up against a small chest of drawers and he’s trying to lift himself up onto it but he’s held too tightly in place by Geralt fisting into the fabric on his hips. He pulls back to smile and quip about wrinkles but he stops when he sees the faraway look in the others eyes. 

“Hey, hey no no no, come back to me witcher. Geralt, hey, come back to me.” he whispers as desperate fingers come up to touch his jaw, his cheeks, his lips, trying to coax the man back from whatever mental brink he’s walked himself against. “Look at me, look at me, I’m here okay? I’m alright. Come back now.” His voice is pitched so low he loses some of it under the sound of his clothes being gripped tighter but he keeps talking, keeps ducking his head to catch Geralt’s eyes, trying to bring him back to the present and away from whatever thoughts are beginning to consume him. He just got him back, just got him close. He refuses to lose him already.

Geralt focuses on him in increments. He takes in a deep breath, the first he’s taken in too long, and he meets Jaskier’s eyes for longer than a second. He grips tighter and he leans closer and he breathes them both in as he grounds himself with the smell of the other. “Jaskier.” He finally murmurs and its exaltation and beauty and prose to Jaskier’s ringing ears. 

“I’m here.” he says again because he’s guessing now, hoping he can suss out what is making Geralt so afraid, so closed off. “Look at me please.” he waits and then smiles, leaning in to press his lips to the other. “I’m here, Geralt.” It’s the right thing to say, he thinks, because Geralt initiates the next kiss and is the one to lift him up onto the dresser so Jaskier can finally wrap his legs around his waist. It's a small victory but he feels like maybe he’s figuring this out. 

He’s exhausted by the end of it, and he’s sore from the afternoon and he takes Geralt to bed fully clothed knowing neither are ready to take it farther than that. He strips them just to their under garments and then pulls the blankets and furs up onto them both until Jaskier is almost too warm but at least they’re too warm together. He searches under the blankets until he finds Geralt’s hand then brings it up to lay calloused fingers on his face. He guides the touch, over his lips and his lashes, under his nose and along the side of his neck, proving his signs of life, giving Geralt any sensation he needs to understand that he didn’t lose Jaskier even though it was close. “Geralt. I need you to talk to me.” He demands quietly, a plea, a need and he hopes Geralt understands it for what it is. He knows this is hard for the other, knows that emotions have been a means of trauma in the man’s past, but he cannot continue this fight alone. He is losing more than he’s winning and he wants Geralt to want him enough to do the difficult tasks too.

“I don’t know how to say it… right.” Geralt finally admits, his eyes shying away, falling closed, frustration clear in the sharp shadows across his brow.

“Then say it wrong, but say it. We can figure out right later.”

He waits, and he breathes, and he lets Geralt think because if he rushes this now Geralt’s going to pull away without him. “Sometimes I hate you,” he starts and Jaskier can tell Geralt doesn’t like the language but he’s falling with a momentum he cannot stop. “Because I know you’re going to die and it will be my fault. And I hate you for making me carry that one day.” It’s the most he’s said in the last month and it’s clear it takes a lot of his energy to say it and though the words sting Jaskier can feel silent apology in the way Geralt runs trembling fingers over Jaskier’s lips. 

He lets himself think before he opens his mouth, weighing his words, careful with their edges in a way Geralt doesn’t know how to do yet. “I cannot… imagine. What it must feel like knowing you will outlive anyone you care about. I can only suppose it hurts the same as knowing I will not be able to outlive you.” He tips his face so Geralt’s fingers slide along his cheek and he can touch their noses together. “I cannot help my mortality no more than you can help the lack of yours, but I will do what I can to safeguard it’s longevity as best as I am able.” It’s a promise he knows he’ll keep. To be more careful, more mindful, more prepared. This he can do. He takes a breath, though, and holds it before continuing with what he needs to say. 

“Sometimes, I hate you too.” He feels more than sees Geralt tense but he's using Geralt's words so he understands the meaning and to show he understands too. “Because you love me but don’t know how to say it and would rather turn away from the pain of not knowing than open yourself up to the pleasure of spending a life with me.” There are some fights he’s willing to give Geralt space on, some things he is happy to ease him into but this is too brutal a truth for them to avoid anymore and it’s a disservice to his own value to keep acting like it isn’t there. “I can show you what it feels like, Geralt, properly. What love feels like when it’s good and I’ll show you all the ways you can say it but I can’t when you keep running away from me everytime it comes close. I need you to be brave, even though I will die before you, because we both deserve this. I deserve this.”

Geralt kisses him now and it’s another apology and he’s always been a man of action rather than words and Jaskier is the opposite but he’s starting to understand how to do this now. He returns the kiss and then pulls Geralt in close so he can smell that he’s alive, hear it from his steady human heartbeat, understand that the danger has momentarily passed while he processes what Jaskier is requesting. 

“When you comb my hair slowly after the bathwater has gone cold.”

The words are disconnected from the moment in a way that has Jaskier confused so he pulls back and touches Geralt’s chin with an inquisitive noise.

“That’s how I know. That you. Love me.” 

His chest aches for this man who bears the weight of his feelings in silence, who would rather let the world think he has none before he lets them see how he feels them all. Jaskier leans in and kisses him again, and then again once more before he pulls back and closes his eyes.

“When you mend my clothes during the night, even though the silk catches on your calluses. That’s how I know.” He can feel the upturn of Geralt’s lips against his own and knows they’ve gotten past something dark and dangerous and are moving towards the light.

“When you wake up from my absence in a dark room.” 

“When you let me ride Roach.”

“When you call me your witcher.”

“When you _let me_ call you my witcher.”

“When you say it.”

“I love you.” A breath. “When you say it.” 

A breath.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> In for a penny, in for a pound.
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@ticktockclockwork](http://ticktockclockwork.tumblr.com)


End file.
